"Nay, I am not the man to gainsay it. 'Tis no more than you ought.And yet--" He surveyed the young Knight's slender form and slightlymoulded limbs, his cheeks pale with watching and the oppressive heatof the night, and the heavy appearance of the eyelids that shadedhis dark blue thoughtful eyes. "Is your health good, young man?"

"As good as that of other men," said Eustace.

"Men!" said Sir Richard; "boys, you mean! But be a man, since youwill, only take as good care of yourself as consists with duty. Ihad rather have you safe than a dozen of these black-visaged Gascons."

Eustace further waited to mention to Sir Richard his untoward encounterwith Sir John Chandos, and to beg him to explain it to the old Baron.

"I will," said Sir Richard; "and don't take old Chandos's uncourtlinesstoo much to heart, young Eustace. He means you no ill. Do your duty,and he will own it in time."

Eustace thanked the old Knight, and with spirits somewhat cheered,returned to his tent, there to devote himself to the service ofhis sick Squire. The report that the fever was in his tent mademost persons willing to avoid him, and he met little interruptionin his cares. Of Leonard, all that he heard was from a man-at-arms, who made his appearance in his tent to demand Master Ashton'sarms, horse, and other property, he having entered the service ofSir William Felton; and Eustace was too much engaged with his owncares to make further inquiry after him.

For a day or two Gaston d'Aubricour's fever ran very high, and justwhen its violence was beginning to diminish, a fresh access wasoccasioned by the journey from Burgos to Valladolid, whither he wascarried in a litter, when the army, by Pedro's desire, marched thitherto await his promised subsidy. The unwholesome climate was of mostpernicious effect to the whole of the English army, and in especialto the Black Prince, who there laid the foundation of the disorderwhich destroyed his health. Week after week passed on, each addingheat to the summer, and increasing the long roll of sick and dying inthe camp, while Gaston still lay, languid and feeble by day, andfevered by night; there were other patients among the men-at-arms,requiring scarcely less care; and the young Knight himself, though,owing to his temperate habits, he had escaped the prevailing sickness,was looking thin and careworn with the numerous troubles and anxietiesthat were pressing on him.

Still he had actually lost not one of his men, and after the firstweek or two, began to have more confidence in himself, and to feelhis place as their commander more than he would have done had Gastonbeen able to assist him. At last his trusty Squire began slowly torecover, though nightly returns of fever still kept him very weak.

"The Pyrenean breezes would make me another man," said he, one evening,when Eustace had helped him to the front of the tent, where he mightenjoy the coolness which began to succeed the sultry heat of the day.

"I hear," said Eustace, "that we are to return as soon as the Princecan be moved. He is weary of waiting till this dog of a Spaniardwill perform his contract."

"By my faith," said d'Aubricour, "I believe the butcherly rogue meansto cancel his debts by the death of all his creditors. I would givemy share of the pay, were it twenty times more, for one gust of themountain air of my own hills."

"No; more to the west. My home, call you it? You would marvel tosee what it is now. A shattered, fire-scathed keep; the wolf's den inearnest, it may be. It is all that is left of the Castle d'Albricorte."

How?" exclaimed Eustace. "What brought this desolation?"

"Heard you never my story?" said Gaston. "Mayhap not. You arefresh in the camp, and it is no recent news, nor do men questionmuch whence their comrades come. Well, Albricorte was always anoted house for courage, and my father, Baron Beranger, not a whitbehind his ancestors. He called himself a liegeman of England,because England was farthest off, and least likely to give him anytrouble, and made war with all his neighbours in his own fashion.Rare was the prey that the old Black Wolf of the Pyrenees was wontto bring up to his lair, and right merry were the feastings there.Well I do remember how my father and brothers used to sound theirhorns as a token that they did not come empty-handed, and then,panting up the steep path, would come a rich merchant, whose ransomfilled our purses half a year after, or a Knight, whose glitteringarmour made him a double prize, or--"

"What! you were actually--"

"Freebooters, after the fashion of our own Quatre fils Aymon,"answered Gaston, composedly. "Yes, Beranger d'Albricorte was theterror of all around, and little was the chance that aught wouldpursue him to his den. So there I grew up, as well beseemed thecub of such a wolf, racing through the old halls at my will."

"Your mother?" asked Eustace.

"Ah! poor lady! I remember her not. She died when I was a babe,and all I know of her was from an old hag, the only woman in theCastle, to whom the charge of me was left. My mother was a nobleNavarrese damsel whom my father saw at a tourney, seized, and boreaway as she was returning from the festival. Poor lady! our grimCastle must have been a sad exchange from her green valleys--andthe more, that they say she was soon to have wedded the Lord ofMontagudo, the victor of that tourney. The Montagudos had us inbitter feud ever after, and my father always looked like athunderstorm if their name was spoken. They say she used towander on the old battlements like a ghost, ever growing thinnerand whiter, and scarce seemed to joy even in her babes, but wouldonly weep over them. That angered the Black Wolf, and there werechidings which made matters little better, till at last the poorlady pined away, and died while I was still an infant."

"A sad tale," said Eustace.

"Ay! I used to weep at it, when the old crone who nursed me wouldtell it over as I sat by her side in the evening. See, here isholy relic that my mother wore round her neck, and my nurse hunground mine. It has never been parted from me. So I grew up to theyears of pagehood, which came early with me, and forth I went on myfirst foray with the rest of them. But as we rode joyously homewith our prey before us, a band of full a hundred and fifty men-at-arms set on us in the forest. Our brave thirty--down they went onall side. I remember the tumult, the heavy mace uplifted, and myfather's shield thrust over me. I can well-nigh hear his voicesaying, 'Flinch not, Gaston, my brave wolf-cub!' But then came afall, man and horse together, and I went down stunned, and knew nomore till a voice over me said, 'That whelp is stirring--anothersword-thrust!' But another replied, 'He bears the features ofAlienor, I cannot slay him'"

"It was your mother's lover?"

"Montagudo? Even so; and I was about to beg for mercy, but, at myfirst movement, the other fellow's sword struck me back senselessonce more, and when I recovered my wits, all was still, and themoonlight showed me where I was. And a fair scene to waken to!A score of dark shapes hung on the trees--our trusty men-at-arms--and my own head was resting on my dead father's breast. Us theyhad spared from hanging--our gentle blood did us that service; butmy father and my three brethren all were stone dead. The Count deBearn had sworn to put an end to the ravages of the Black Wolf,and, joining with the Montagudos, had done the work, like traitorvillains as they were."

"And yourself, Gaston?"

"I was not so badly wounded but that I could soon rise to my feet--but where should I go? I turned towards the Castle, but theBearnese had been there before me, and I saw flames burstingfrom every window. I was weak and wounded, and sank down,bleeding and bewailing, till my senses left me; and I should havedied, but for two Benedictines journeying for the service of theirConvent. The good brethren were in fear for their bags in goingthrough the Black Wolf's country, but they had pity on me; theybrought me to myself, and when they had heard my tale, theyturned aside to give Christian burial to my father and brothers.They were holy men, those monks, and, for their sakes, I havespared the cowl ever since. They tended me nearly as well asyou have done, and brought me to their Convent, where they wouldfain have made a monk of me, but the wolf was too strong in me,and, ere a month was passed, I had been so refractory a pupil,that they were right glad to open the Convent gates. I walkedforth to seek my fortune, without a denier, with nothing but thesword I had taken from my father's hand, and borne with me, muchagainst the good men's will. I meant to seek service with anyone who would avenge me on the Count de Bearn. One night I slepton the hill-side, one day I fasted, the next I fell in with SirPerduccas d'Albret's troop. I had seen him in my father's company.He heard my tale, saw me a strong, spirited lad, and knew ad'Aubricour would be no discredit to his free lances. So he tookme as his page, and thence--but the tale would be long--I becamewhat you see me."

"And you have never seen your own Castle again?"

"But once. D'Albret laughed when I called on him to revenge meon the Count de Bearn, and bade me bide my time till I met him inbattle. As to my heritage, there was no hope for that. Once, whenI had just broken with Sir Nele Loring, and left his troop, andtimes were hard with me, I took my horse and rode to Albricorte,but there was nought but the bare mountain, and the walls blackwith fire. There was, indeed, a wretched shepherd and his wife,who trembled and looked dismayed when they found that one of theAlbricortes still lived; but I could get nothing from them, unlessI had taken a sheep before me on the saddle; so I rode off againto seek some fresh service, and, by good hap, lit on Sir Reginaldjust as old Harwood was dead. All I have from my father is myname, my shield, and an arm that I trust has disgraced neither."

"No, indeed. Yours is a strange history, Gaston; such as we dreamnot of in our peaceful land. Homeless, friendless, I know not howyou can be thus gay spirited?"

"A light heart finds its way through the world the easiest," saidGaston, smiling. "I have nothing to lose, and no sorrows to wastetime on. But are you not going forth this cool evening, SirEustace? you spoke of seeking fresh tidings of the Prince."

Eustace accordingly walked forth, attended by his yeoman, John Ingram;but all he could learn was, that Edward had sent a remonstrance to theKing of Castile on the delay of the subsidy.

CHAPTER VII

As Eustace was returning, his attention was caught by repeated groans,which proceeded from a wretched little hovel almost level with theearth. "Hark!" said he to Ingram, a tall stout man-at-arms from theLynwood estate. "Didst thou not hear a groaning?"

"Some of the Castilians, Sir. To think that the brutes should becontent to live in holes not fit for swine!"

"But methought it was an English tongue. Listen, John!"

And in truth English ejaculations mingled with the moans: "To St.Joseph of Glastonbury, a shrine of silver! Blessed Lady of Taunton,a silver candlestick! Oh! St. Dunstan!"

Eustace doubted no longer; and stooping down and entering the hut,he beheld, as well as the darkness would allow him, Leonard Ashtonhimself, stretched on some mouldy rushes, and so much altered, thathe could scarcely have been recognized as the sturdy, ruddy youthwho had quitted the Lances of Lynwood but five weeks before.

"Eustace! Eustace!" he exclaimed, as the face of his late companionappeared. "Can it be you? Have the saints sent you to my succour?"

"Let me feel your hand, that I may be sure you are flesh and blood,"cried Ashton, raising himself and grasping Eustace's hand between hisown, which burnt like fire; then, lowering his voice to a whisper ofhorror, "She is a witch!"

"Who?" asked Eustace, making the sign of the cross.

Leonard pointed to a kind of partition which crossed the hut, beyondwhich Eustace could perceive an old hag-like woman, bending over acauldron which was placed on the fire. Having made this effort, hesank back, hiding his face with his cloak, and trembling in everylimb. A thrill of dismay passed over the Knight, and the giant,John Ingram, stood shaking like an aspen, pale as death, and crossinghimself perpetually. "Oh, take me from this place, Eustace,"repeated Leonard, "or I am a dead man, both body and soul!"

"But how came you here, Leonard?"

"I fell sick some three days since, and--and, fearing infection, SirWilliam Felton bade me be carried from his lodgings; the robbers,his men-at-arms, stripped me of all I possessed, and brought me tothis dog-hole, to the care of this old hag. Oh, Eustace, I haveheard her mutter prayers backwards; and last night--oh! last night!at the dead hour, there came in a procession--of that I would takemy oath--seven black cats, each holding a torch with a blue flame,and danced around me, till one laid his paw upon my breast, andgrew and grew, with its flaming eyes fixed on me, till it was asbig as an ox, and the weight was intolerable, the while her spellswere over me, and I could not open my lips to say so much as an AveMary. At last, the cold dew broke out on my brow, and I should havebeen dead in another instant, when I contrived to make the sign ofthe Cross, whereat they all whirled wildly round, and I fell--oh!I fell miles and miles downwards, till at last I found myself, atmorning's light, with the hateful old witch casting water in myface. Oh, Eustace, take me away!"

Such were the times, that Eustace Lynwood, with all his cool senseand mental cultivation, believed implicitly poor Leonard's deliriousfancy--black cats and all; and the glances he cast at the poor oldSpaniard were scarcely less full of terror and abhorrence, as hepromised Leonard, whom he now regarded only in the light of his oldcomrade, that he should, without loss of time, be conveyed to hisown tent.

"But go not--leave me not," implored Leonard, clinging fast to him,almost like a child to its nurse, with a hand which was now coldas marble.

"No; I will remain," said Eustace; "and you, Ingram, hasten to bringfour of the men with the litter in which Master d'Aubricour came fromBurgos. Hasten I tell you."

"Ingram, with his eyes dilated with horror, appeared but too anxiousto quit this den, yet lingered. "I leave you not here, Sir Knight."

"Thanks, thanks, John," replied the youth; "but remain I must, andwill. As a Christian man, I defy the foul fiend and all hisfollowers!"

John departed. Never was Leonard so inclined to rejoice in hisfriend's clerkly education, or in his knighthood, which was thenso much regarded as a holy thing, that the presence of one whoseentrance into the order was so recent was deemed a protection.The old woman, a kind-hearted creature in the main, though,certainly forbidding-looking in her poverty and ugliness, wasrejoiced to see her patient visited by a friend. She came towardsthem, addressing Eustace with what he took for a spell, though,had he understood Spanish he would have found it a fine flowingcompliment. Leonard shrank closer to him, pressed his handfaster, and he, again crossing himself, gave utterance to a charm.Spanish, especially old Castilian, had likeness enough to Latinfor the poor old woman to recognize its purport; she poured outa voluble vindication, which the two young men believed to be anattempt at further bewitching them. Eustace, finding his Latinrather the worse for wear, had recourse to all the strange rhymes,or exorcisms, English, French, or Latin, with which his memorysupplied him. Thanks to these, the sorceress was kept at bay,and the spirits of his terrified companion were sustained tillthe arrival of all the Lances of Lynwood, headed by Gastonhimself, upon his mule, in the utmost anxiety for his Knight,looking as gaunt and spectral as the phantoms they dreaded. Heblessed the saints when Eustace came forth safe and sound, andsmiled and shook his head with an arch look when Leonard wascarried out; but his never-failing good-nature prevented himfrom saying a word which might savour of reproach when he sawto what a condition the poor youth was reduced. As four stoutmen-at-arms took up the litter, the old woman, coming forth toher threshold, uttered something which his knowledge of theRomanesque tongues of Southern France enabled him to interpretinto a vindication of her character, and a request for a rewardfor her care of the sick Englishman.

"Throw her a gold piece, Sir Eustace, or she may cast at you anevil eye. There, you old hag," he added in the Provencal patois,"take that, and thank your stars that 'tis not with a fire thatyour tender care, as you call it, is requited."

The men-at-arms meditated ducking the witch after their own Englishfashion, but it was growing late and dark, and the Knight gave strictorders that they should keep together in their progress to their owntents. Here Leonard was deposited on the couch which Gaston insistedon giving up to him; but his change of residence appeared to be oflittle advantage, for the camp was scarce quiet for the night, beforehe shrieked out that the black cats were there. Neither Eustace norGaston could see them, but that was only a proof that they were notunder the power of the enchantment, and John Ingram was quite surethat he had not only seen the sparkle of their fiery eyes, but feltthe scratch of their talons, which struck him to the ground, with hisfoot caught in the rope of the tent, while he was walking about withhis eyes shut.

The scratch was actually on his face the next morning, and he set outat the head of half the Lances of Lynwood to find the poor old woman,and visit her with condign punishment; but she was not forthcoming,and they were obliged to content themselves with burning her house,assisted by a host of idlers. In the meantime, Sir Eustace had calledin the aid of the clergy: the chaplains of the camp came in procession,sprinkled the patient's bed with holy water, and uttered an exorcism,but without availing to prevent a third visit from the enemy. Afterthis, however, Leonard's fever began to abate, and he ceased to behaunted.

He had been very ill; and, thoroughly alarmed, he thought himselfdying, and bitterly did he repent of the headstrong insubordinationand jealously which had lead him to quit his best and only friend.He had not, indeed, the refinement of feeling which would have madeEustace's generosity his greatest reproach; he clung to him as hissupport, and received his attentions almost as a right; but still hewas sensible that he had acted like a fool, and that such friendshipwas not to be thrown away; and when he began to recover he showedhimself subdued, to a certain degree grateful, and decidedly lesssullen and more amenable to authority.

In the meantime, the Prince of Wales found himself sufficientlyrecovered to undertake to return to Aquitaine, and, weary of thetreacherous delays and flagrant crimes of his ally, he resolvedto quit this fatal land of Castile.

There was a general cry of joy throughout the camp when orders weregiven that the tents should be struck and the army begin its marchin the early coolness of the next morning; and, without furtheradventure, the Black Prince led his weakened and reduced forcesover the Pyrenees back into France. Here they were again dispersed,as the war was at an end; and the young Sir Eustace Lynwood receivedhigh commendation from the Prince, and even from Chandos himself,for being able to show his brother's band as complete in numbersand discipline as on the day when it was given into his charge.

"This," as Chandos said, "was a service which really showed himworthy of his spurs, if he would but continue the good course."

The peace with France, however, prevented the Prince from beingdesirous of keeping up the Lances of Lynwood, and he thereforeoffered to take their young leader into his own troop of Knights,who were maintained at his own table, and formed a part of hisstate; and so distinguished was this body, that no higher favourcould have been offered. Edward likewise paid to Sir Eustace aconsiderable sum as the purchase of his illustrious captive, andthis, together with the ransoms of the two other prisoners, enabledhim to reward the faithful men-at-arms, some of whom took servicewith other Knights, and others returned to England. Leonard Ashtonhaving no pleasant reminiscences of his first campaign, and havingbeen stripped of all his property by his chosen associates, wasdesirous of returning to his father; and Eustace, after restoringhis equipments to something befitting an Esquire of property, andliberally supplying him with the expenses of his journey, badehim an affectionate farewell, and saw him depart, not withoutsatisfaction at no longer feeling himself accountable for hisconduct.

"There he goes," said Gaston, "and I should like to hear the taleshe will amaze the good Somersetshire folk with. I trow he willmake them believe that he took Du Guesclin himself, and that thePrince knighted you by mistake."

"His tale of the witches will be something monstrous," said Eustace;"but still, methinks he is much the better for his expedition: farless crabbed in temper, and less clownish in manners."

"Ay," said Gaston, "if he were never to be under any other guidancethan yours, I think the tough ash-bough might be moulded intosomething less unshapely. You have a calmness and a temper such ashe cannot withstand, nor I understand. 'Tis not want of spirit, butit is that you never seem to take or see what is meant for affront.I should think it tameness in any other."

"Well, poor fellow, I wish he may prosper," said Eustace. "But now,Gaston, to our own affairs. Let us see what remains of the gold."

"It shall not be the worse for you, Gaston, for I had set aside thesethirty golden crowns for you before I broke upon my own store. It isnot such a recompense as Reginald or I myself would have wished aftersuch loving and faithful service; but gold may never recompense truth."

"As for recompense," said Gaston, "I should be by a long score thedebtor if we came to that. If it had not been for Sir Reginald, Ishould be by this time a reckless freebooter, without a hope in thisworld or the next; if it had not been for you, these bones of minewould long since have been picked by my cousins, the Spanish wolves.But let the gold tarry in your keeping: it were better King Edward'sgood crowns should not be, after all else that has been, in my hands."

"But, Gaston, you will need fitting out for the service of SirWilliam Beauchamp."

"What! What mean you, Sir Eustace?" cried Gaston. "What have Idone that you should dismiss me from your followers?"

"Nay, kind Gaston, it were shame that so finished a Squire should bebound down by my poverty to be the sole follower of a banner whichwill never again be displayed at the head of such a band as theLances of Lynwood."

"No, Sir Eustace, I leave you not. Recall your brother's words, 'Gonot back to old ways and comrades,' quoth he; and if you cast me off,what else is left for me? for having once served a banneret, no othershall have my service. Where else should I find one who would carea feather whether I am dead or alive? So there it ends--put up yourpieces, or rather, give me one wherewith to purvey a new bridle forBrigliador, for the present is far from worthy of his name."

Accordingly, the Gascon Squire still remained attached to Eustace'sservice, while the trusty Englishman, John Ingram, performed themore menial offices. Time sped away at the court of Bordeaux; thegallant Du Guesclin was restored to liberty, after twice payingaway his ransom for the deliverance of his less renowned brethrenin captivity, and Enrique of Trastamare, returning to Castile, wasonce more crowned by the inhabitants. His brother Pedro, attemptingto assassinate him, fell by his hand, and all the consequences ofthe English expedition were undone--all, save the wasting diseasethat preyed on England's heir, and the desolation at the orphanedhearth of Lynwood Keep.

CHAPTER VIII

Two years had passed since the fight of Navaretta, when Sir EustaceLynwood received, by the hands of a Knight newly arrived from England,a letter from Father Cyril, praying him to return home as soon aspossible, since his sister-in-law, Dame Eleanor, was very sick, anddesired to see him upon matters on which more could not be disclosedby letter.

Easily obtaining permission to leave Bordeaux, he travelled safelythrough France, and crossing from Brittany, at length found himselfonce more in Somersetshire. It was late, and fast growing dark,when he rode through Bruton; but, eager to arrive, he pushed on,though twilight had fast faded into night, and heavy clouds, ladenwith brief but violent showers, were drifting across the face ofthe moon. On they rode, in silence, save for Gaston's execrationsof the English climate, and the plashing of the horses' feet in themiry tracks, along which, in many places, the water was rushing intorrents.

At length they were descending the long low hill, or ratherundulation, leading to the wooded vale of Lynwood, and the brightlights of the Keep began to gleam like stars in the darkness--starsindeed to the eager eyes of the young Knight, who gazed upon themlong and affectionately, as he felt himself once more at home. "Iwonder," said he, "to see the light strongest towards the east endof the Castle! I knew not that the altar lights in the chapel couldbe seen so far!" Then riding on more quickly, and approaching morenearly, he soon lost sight of them behind the walls, and descendingthe last little rising ground, the lofty mass of building rose hugeand black before him.

He wound his bugle and rode towards the gate, but at the moment heexpected to cross the drawbridge, Ferragus suddenly backed, and heperceived that it was raised. "This is some strange chance!" saidhe, renewing the summons, but in vain, for the echoes of thesurrounding woods were the only reply. "Ralph must indeed be deaf!"said he.

"Let him be stone deaf," said Gaston; "he is not the sole inhabitantof the Castle. Try them again, Sir Eustace."

"Hark!--methought I heard the opening of the hall door!" said Eustace."No! What can have befallen them?"

"My teeth are chattering with cold," said Gaston, "and the horseswill be ruined with standing still in the driving rain. Cannot webetake ourselves to the village hostel, and in the morning reproachthem with their churlishness?"

"I must be certified that there is nothing amiss," said Sir Eustace,springing from his saddle; "I can cross the moat on one of thesupports of the bridge."

"Have with you then, Sir Knight," said Gaston, also leaping to theground, while Eustace cautiously advanced along the narrow frame ofwood on which the drawbridge had rested, slippery with the wet, andrendered still more perilous by the darkness. Gaston followed,balancing himself with some difficulty, and at last they safelyreached the other side. Eustace tried the heavy gates, but foundthem fastened on the inside with a ponderous wooden bar. "Moststrange!" muttered he; "yet come on, Gaston, I can find an entrance,unless old Ralph be more on the alert than I expect."

Creeping along between the walls and the moat, till they had reachedthe opposite side of the Keep, Eustace stopped at a low doorway; aslight click was heard, as of a latch yielding to his hand, the dooropened, and he led the way up a stone staircase in the thickness ofthe wall, warning his follower now and then of a broken step. Aftera long steep ascent, Gaston heard another door open, and though stillin total darkness, perceived that they had gained a wider space."The passage from the hall to the chapel," whispered the Knight, andfeeling by the wall, they crept along, until a buzz of voices reachedtheir ears, and light gleamed beneath a heavy dark curtain whichclosed the passage. Pausing for an instant, they heard a voicetremulous with fear and eagerness: "It was himself! tall plume,bright armour! the very crosslet on his breast could be seen in themoonlight! Oh! it was Sir Reginald himself, and the wild youngFrench Squire that fell with him in Spain!"

There was a suppressed exclamation of horror, and a sound ofcrowding together, and at that moment, Eustace, drawing aside thecurtain, advanced into the light, and was greeted by a frightfulshriek, which made him at first repent of having alarmed his sister,but the next glance showed him that her place was empty, and athrill of dismay made him stand speechless and motionless, as heperceived that the curtain he grasped was black, and the hallcompletely hung with the same colour.

The servants remained huddled in terror round the hearth, and thepause was first broken by a fair-faced boy, who, breaking from thetrembling circle, came forward, and in a quivering tone said, "Sir,are you my father's spirit?"

Gaston's laugh came strangely on the scene, but Eustace, bendingdown, and holding out his hand, said, "I am your uncle Eustace,Arthur. Where is your mother?"

Arthur, with a wild cry of joy, sprung to his neck, and hid his faceon his shoulder; and at the same moment old Ralph, with upliftedhands, cried, "Blessing on the Saints that my young Lord is safe,and that mine eyes have seen you once again."

"But where, oh! where is my sister?" again demanded Eustace, as hiseye met that of Father Cyril, who, summoned by the screams of theservants, had just entered the hall.

"My son," replied the good Father, solemnly, "your sister is wherethe wicked may trouble her no more. It is three days now since shedeparted from this world of sorrow."

"Oh, had she but lived to see this day," said Ralph Penrose, "hercares would have been over!"

"Her prayers are answered," said Father Cyril. "Come with me, myson Eustace, if you would take a last look of her who loved andtrusted you so well."

Eustace followed him to the chamber where the Lady Eleanor Lynwoodlay extended on her bed. Her features were pinched and sharpened,and bore traces of her long, wasting sufferings, but they stilllooked lovely, though awful in their perfect calmness. Eustaceknelt and recited the accustomed prayers, and then stood gazing onthe serene face, with a full heart, and gathering tears in his eyes,for he had loved the gentle Eleanor with the trusting affection ofa younger brother. He thought of that joyous time, the firstbrilliant day of his lonely childhood, when the gay bridal cavalcadecame sweeping down the hill, and he, half in pleasure, half inshyness, was led forth by his mother to greet the fair young brideof his brother. How had she brightened the dull old Keep, and given,as it were, a new existence to himself, a dreamy, solitary boy--howpatiently and affectionately had she tended his mother, and howpleasant were the long evenings when she had unwearily listened tohis beloved romances, and his visions of surpassing achievements ofhis own! No wonder that he wept for her as a brother would weep foran elder sister.

Father Cyril, well pleased to perceive that the kindly tenderness ofhis heart was still untouched by his intercourse with the world, lethim gaze on for some time in silence, then laying his hand on his armsaid, "She is in peace. Mourn not that her sorrows are at an end,her tears wiped away, but prepare to fulfil her last wishes, thoseprayers in answer to which, as I fully believe, the Saints have sentyou at the very moment of greatest need."

"Her last wishes?" said Eustace. "They shall be fulfilled to theutmost as long as I have life or breath! Oh! had I but come intime to hear them from herself, and give her my own pledge."

"Grieve not that her trust was not brought down to aught of earth,"said Father Cyril. "She trusted in Heaven, and died in the surebelief that her child would be guarded; and lo, his protector iscome, if, as I well believe, my son Eustace, you are not changedfrom the boy who bade us farewell three years ago."

"If I am changed, it is not in my love for home, and for all whodwell there," said Eustace, "or rather, I love them better thanbefore. Little did I dream what a meeting awaited me!" Againthere was a long pause, which Eustace at length broke by saying,"What is the need you spoke of? What danger do you fear?"

"This is no scene for dwelling on the evil deeds of wicked menotherwise than to pray for them," said the Priest; "but returnwith me to the hall, and you shall hear."

Eustace lingered a few moments longer, before, heaving a deep sighhe returned to the hall, where he found Gaston and Ingram, just comein from attending to the horses, and Ralph hurrying the servants insetting out an ample meal for the travellers.

"My good old friend," said Eustace, holding out his hand as heentered, "I have not greeted you aright. You must throw the blameon the tidings that took from me all other thought, Ralph; for neverwas there face which I was more rejoiced to see.

"It was the blame of our own reception of you, Sir Eustace," saidold Penrose. "I could tear my hair to think that you should havemet with no better welcome than barred gates and owlet shrieks;but did you but know how wildly your bugle-blast rose upon ourear, while we sat over the fire well-nigh distraught with sorrow,you would not marvel that we deemed that the spirit of our goodKnight might be borne upon the moaning wind."

"Yet," said Arthur, "I knew the note, and would have gone to theturret window, but that Mistress Cicely held me fast; and whenthey sent Jocelyn to look, the cowardly knave brought back thetale which you broke short."

"Boast not, Master Arthur," said Gaston; "you believed in ourghostship as fully as any of them."

"But met us manfully," said Eustace. "But why all these precautions?Why the drawbridge raised? That could scarce be against a ghost."

"Alas! Sir Eustace, there are bodily foes abroad!" said Ralph. "Byyour leave, Master d'Aubricour," as Gaston was about to assist hisKnight in unfastening his armour, "none shall lay a hand near SirEustace but myself on this first night of his return; thanks be toSt. Dunstan that he has come!" Eustace stood patiently for severalminutes while the old man fumbled with his armour, and presentlycame the exclamation, "A plague on these new-fangled clasps whicha man cannot undo for his life! 'Twas this low corselet that wasthe death of good Sir Reginald. I always said that no good wouldcome of these fashions!"

In process of time, Eustace was disencumbered of his heavy armour;but when he stood before him in his plain dress of chamois leather,old Ralph shook his head, disappointed that he had not attained theheight or the breadth of the stalwart figures of his father andbrother, but was still slight and delicate looking. The goldenspurs and the sword of Du Guesclin, however, rejoiced the old man'sheart, and touching them almost reverentially, he placed the largearm-chair at the head of the table, and began eagerly to invite himto eat.

Eustace was too sorrowful and too anxious to be inclined for food,and long before his followers had finished their meal, he turnedfrom the table, and asked for an account of what had befallen inhis absence; for there was at that time no more idea of privacy inconversation than such as was afforded by the comparative seclusionof the party round the hearth, consisting of the Knight, his armaround his little nephew, who was leaning fondly against him; ofFather Cyril, of Gaston, and old Ralph, in his wonted nook, hiselbow on his knee, and his chin on his hand, feasting his eyes withthe features of his beloved pupil. In answer to the query, "Who isthe enemy you fear?" there was but one answer, given in differenttones, "The Lord de Clarenham!"

"Ha!" cried Eustace, "it was justly then that your father, Arthur,bade me beware of him when he committed you to my charge on thebattle-field of Navaretta."

"Did he so?" exclaimed Father Cyril. "Did he commit the boy to yourguardianship? Formally and before witnesses?"

"I can testify to it, good Father," said Gaston. "Ay! and you, Ingram,must have been within hearing--to say nothing of Du Guesclin."

"And Leonard Ashton," said Ingram.

"It is well," said Father Cyril; "he will be here to-morrow to beconfronted with Clarenham. It is the personal wardship that is ofchief importance, and dwelt most on my Lady's mind."

"Clarenham lays claim then to the guardianship?" asked Eustace.

Father Cyril proceeded with a narrative, the substance of which wasas follows:--Simon de Clarenham, as has been mentioned, had obtainedfrom King Edward, in the days of the power of Isabel and Mortimer, agrant of the manor of Lynwood, but on the fall of the wicked Queen,the rightful owner had been reinstated, without, however, any formalrevocation of the unjust grant. Knowing it would cost but a word ofSir Reginald to obtain its recall, both Simon and Fulk de Clarenhamhad done their best to make him forget its existence; but no soonerdid the news of his death reach England, than Fulk began to take anungenerous advantage of the weakness of his heir. He sent a summonsfor the dues paid by vassals to their Lord on a new succession, andon Eleanor's indignant refusal, followed it up by a further claim tothe wardship of the person of Arthur himself, both in right of hisalleged feudal superiority, and as the next of kin who was of fullage. Again was his demand refused, and shortly after Lady Lynwood'salarms were brought to a height by an attempt on his part to waylayher son and carry him off by force, whilst riding in the neighbourhoodof the Castle. The plot had failed, by the fidelity of the villagersof Lynwood, but the shock to the lady had increased the progress ofthe decay of her health, already undermined by grief. She neveragain trusted her son beyond the Castle walls; she trembled wheneverhe was out of her sight, and many an hour did she spend kneelingbefore the altar in the chapel. On her brother-in-law, Sir Eustace,her chief hope was fixed; on him she depended for bringing Arthur'scase before the King, and, above all, for protecting him from theattacks of the enemy of his family, rendered so much more dangerousby his relationship. She did not believe that actual violence toArthur's person was intended, but Fulk's house had of late becomesuch an abode of misrule, that his mother and sister had beenobliged to leave it for a Convent, and the tales of the lawlessnesswhich there prevailed were such that she would have dreaded nothingmore for her son than a residence there, even if Fulk had no interestin oppressing him.

That Eustace should return to take charge of his nephew before herdeath was her chief earthly wish, and when she found herself rapidlysinking, and the hope of its fulfilment lessening, she obtained apromise from Father Cyril that he would conduct the boy to the Abbeyof Glastonbury, and there obtain from the Abbot protection for himuntil his uncle should return, or the machinations of Fulk bedefeated by an appeal to the King.

This was accordingly Father Cyril's intention. It was unavoidablethat Fulk, the near kinsman of the deceased, should be present atthe funeral, but Father Cyril had intended to keep Arthur withinthe sanctuary of the chapel until he could depart under the careof twelve monks of Glastonbury, who were coming in the stead ofthe Abbot--he being, unfortunately, indisposed. Sir Philip Ashtonhad likewise been invited, in the hope that his presence might provea check upon Clarenham.

CHAPTER IX

With the first dawn of morning, the chapel bell began to toll, andwas replied to by the deeper sound of the bell of the parish church.Soon the court began to be filled with the neighbouring villagers,with beggars, palmers, mendicant friars of all orders, pressing tothe buttery-hatch, where they received the dole of bread, meat, andale, from the hands of the pantler, under the direction of the almonerof Glastonbury, who requested their prayers for the soul of the nobleSir Reginald Lynwood, and Dame Eleanor of Clarenham, his wife. Thepeasantry of Lynwood, and the beggars, whose rounds brought themregularly to the Keep of Lynwood, and who had often experienced thebounty of the departed lady, replied with tears and blessings. Therewere not wanting the usual though incongruous accompaniments of sucha scene--the jugglers and mountebanks, who were playing their tricksin one corner.

Within the hall, all was in sad, sober, and solemn array, contrastingwith the motley concourse in the court. Little Arthur, dressed inblack, stood by the side of his uncle, to receive the greetings ofhis yeoman vassals, as they came in, one by one, with clownishcourtesy, but hearty respect and affection, and great satisfactionat the unexpected appearance of the young Knight.

Next came in long file, mounted on their sleek mules, the twelvemonks of Glastonbury, whom the Knight and his nephew reverentlyreceived at the door, and conducted across the hall to the chapel,where the parish Priest, Father Cyril, and some of the neighbouringclergy had been chanting psalms since morning light. On the way SirEustace held some conference with the chief, Brother Michael, whohad come prepared to assist in conveying Arthur, if possible, toGlastonbury, but was very glad to find that the Knight was able totake upon himself the charge of his nephew, without embroiling theAbbey with so formidable an enemy as Lord de Clarenham.

The next arrival was Sir Philip Ashton and his son, who could hardlybelieve their eyes when Eustace met them. Leonard's manner was atfirst cordial; but presently, apparently checked by some suddenrecollection, he drew back, and stood in sheepish embarrassment,fumbling with his dagger, while Sir Philip was lavishing complimentson Eustace, who was rejoiced when the sound of horses made itnecessary to go and meet Lord de Clarenham at the door. Arthurlooked up in Sir Fulk's face, with a look in which curiosity anddefiance were expressed; while Fulk, on his side, was ready togrind his teeth with vexation at the unexpected sight of the onlyman who could interfere with his projects. Then he glanced at hisown numerous and well-appointed retinue, compared them with thesmall number of the Lynwood vassals, and with another look at hisadversary's youthful and gentle appearance, he became reassured,and returned his salutations with haughty ceremony.

The whole company moved in solemn procession towards the chapel,where the mass and requiem were chanted, and the corpse of the LadyEleanor, inclosed in a stone coffin, was lowered to its resting-place, in the vault of her husband's ancestors.

It was past noon when the banquet was spread in the hall; a highertable on the dais for the retainers and yeomanry, the latter of whomwere armed with dagger, short sword, or quarter-staff.

Sir Philip Ashton and Brother Michael were chiefly at the expense ofthe conversation, Eustace meanwhile doing the honours with gravecourtesy, taking care to keep his nephew by his side. There wasno one who did not feel as if on the eve of a storm; but all wasgrave and decorous; and at length Brother Michael and the monks ofGlastonbury, rejoicing that they, at least, had escaped a turmoil,took their leave, mounted their mules, and rode off, in allcorrectness of civility toward the house of Lynwood, which, asEustace could not help feeling, they thus left to fight its ownbattles.

"It waxes late," said Lord de Clarenham, rising; "bring out thehorses, Miles; and you, my young kinsman, Arthur, you are to be myguest from henceforth. Come, therefore, prepare for the journey."

Arthur held fast by the hand of his uncle, who replied, "I thank youin my nephew's name for your intended hospitality, but I purpose atonce to conduct him to Bordeaux, to be enrolled among the Prince'spages."

"Conduct him to Bordeaux, said the Knight?" answered Sir Fulk witha sneer; "to Bordeaux forsooth! It is well for you, my fair youngcousin, that I have other claims to you, since, were you once outof England, I can well guess who would return to claim the landsof Lynwood."

"What claim have you to his wardship, Sir Fulk?" asked Eustace,coldly, disdaining to take notice of the latter part of this speech.

"As his feudal superior, and his nearest relation of full age,"replied Clarenham.

"There are many here who can prove that it is twenty-one years past,since I was born on the feast of St. Eustace," replied the youngKnight. "The house of Lynwood owns no master beneath the King ofEngland, and the wardship of my nephew was committed to me by bothhis parents. Here is a witness of the truth of my words. HolyFather, the parchment!"

Father Cyril spread a thick roll, with heavy seals, purporting to bethe last will and testament of Dame Eleanor Lynwood, bequeathing thewardship and marriage of her son to her beloved brother, Sir EustaceLynwood, Knight Banneret, and, in his absence, to the Lord Abbot ofGlastonbury, and Cyril Langton, Clerk.

"It is nought," said Clarenham, pushing it from him; "the Ladyof Lynwood had no right to make a will in this manner, since sheunlawfully detained her son from me, his sole guardian."

"The force of the will may be decided by the King's justices," saidEustace; "but my rights are not founded on it alone. My brother,Sir Reginald, with his last words, committed his son to my charge."

"What proof do you bring, Sir Eustace?" said Fulk. "I question notyour word, but something more is needed in points of law, and youcan scarcely expect the world to believe that Sir Reginald wouldcommit his only child to the guardianship of one so young, and thenext heir."

"I am here to prove it, my Lord," said Gaston, eagerly. "'To yourcare I commit him, Eustace,' said Sir Reginald, as he lay with hishead on his brother's breast; and methought he also added, 'Bewareof Clarenham.' Was it not so, friend Leonard?"

Leonard's reply was not readily forthcoming. His father waswhispering in his ear, whilst he knit his brow, shuffled with hisfeet, and shrugged his shoulder disrespectfully in his father'sface.

"Speak, Master Ashton," said Clarenham, in a cold incredulous tone,and bending on father and son glances which were well understood."To your testimony, respectable and uninterested, credit must beadded."

"What mean you by that, Sir Fulk de Clarenham?" cried Gaston; "forwhat do you take me and my word?"

"Certain tales of you and your companions, Sir Squire," answeredClarenham, "do not dispose me to take a Gascon's word for more thanit is worth."

"This passes!" cried Gaston, striking his fist on the table; "youventure it because you are not of my degree! Here, ye cravenSquires, will not one of you take up my glove, when I cast backin his teeth your master's foul slander of an honourable Esquire?"

"Touch it not, I command you," said Clarenham, "unless Masterd'Aubricour will maintain that he never heard of a certain one-eyed Basque, and never rode on a free-booting foray with the robberKnight, Perduccas d'Albret."

"What of that?" fiercely cried Gaston.

"Quite enough, Sir Squire," said Fulk, coolly.

Gaston was about to break into a tempest of rage, when Eustace'scalm voice and gesture checked him.

"Sir Fulk," said Eustace, "were you at Bordeaux, you would know thatno man's word can be esteemed more sacred, or his character more high,than that of Gaston d'Aubricour."

"But in the meantime," said Clarenham, "we must be content to takethat, as well as much besides, on your own assertion, Sir Eustace.Once more, Master Leonard Ashton, let me hear your testimony, as tothe dying words of Sir Reginald Lynwood. I am content to abide bythem."

"Come, Leonard," said his father, who had been whispering with himall this time, "speak up; you may be grieved to disappoint a once-friendly companion, but you could not help the defect of your ears."

"Sir Philip, I pray you not to prompt your son," said Eustace."Stand forth, Leonard, on your honour. Did you or did you nothear the words of my brother, as he lay on the bank of the Zadorra?"

Leonard half rose, as if to come towards him, but his father heldhim fast; he looked down, and muttered, "Ay, truly, I heard SirReginald say somewhat."

"Tell it out, then."

"He thanked the Prince for knighting you--he prayed him to havecharge of his wife and child--he bade Gaston not to return to evilcourses," said Leonard, bringing out his sentences at intervals.

Leonard almost writhed himself beneath the eyes that Eustace keptsteadily fixed on him. "Somewhat--somewhat he might have said ofknightly training for his son--but--but what do I know?" he added,as his father pressed hard on his foot; "it was all in your ear,for as he lay on your breast, his voice grew so faint, that I couldhear little through my helmet."

"Nay, Master Ashton," said John Ingram, pressing forward, "if Iremember right, you had thrown off your helmet, saying it was ashot as a copper cauldron; and besides, our good Knight, when hesaid those words touching Master Arthur, raised himself upsomewhat, and spoke out louder, as if that we might all hear andbear witness."

"No witness beyond your own train, Sir Eustace?" said Clarenham.

"None," said Eustace, "excepting one whose word even you will scarcelydare to dispute, Sir Bertrand du Guesclin."

"I dispute no man's word, Sir Eustace," said Fulk; "I only say thatuntil the claim which you allege be proved in the King's Court, I amthe lawful guardian of the lands and person of the heir of Lynwood.The Lord Chancellor Wykeham may weigh the credit to be attached tothe witness of this highly respectable Esquire, or this long-earedman-at-arms, or may send beyond seas for the testimony of Du Guesclin:in the meantime, I assume my office. Come here, boy."

"I will not come to you, Lord Fulk," said Arthur; "or when I do, itshall be sword in hand to ask for an account for the tears you havemade my sweet mother shed."

"Bred up in the same folly!" said Fulk. "Once more, Sir Eustace,will you yield him to me, or must I use force?"

"I have vowed before his mother's corpse to shield him from you,"returned Eustace.

"Think of the consequences, Sir Eustace," said Sir Philip Ashton,coming up to him. "Remember the unrepealed grant to the Clarenhams.The Lynwood manor may be at any moment resumed, to which, failingyour nephew, you are heir. You will ruin him and yourself."

"It is his person, not his lands, that I am bound to guard," saidEustace. "Let him do his worst; my nephew had better be a landlessman, than one such as Fulk would make him."

"Think," continued Sir Philip, "of the disadvantages to your causeof provoking a fray at such a time. Hold your hand, and yield theboy, at least till the cause come before the Chancellor."

"Never," said Eustace. "His parents have trusted him to me, andI will fulfil my promise. The scandal of the fray be on him whooccasions it."

"Recollect, my Lord," said Ashton, turning to Fulk, "that this maybe misrepresented. These young warriors are hot and fiery, and thisyoung Knight, they say, has succeeded to all his brother's favourwith the Prince."

"I will not be bearded by a boy," returned Clarenham, thrusting himaside. "Hark you, Sir Eustace. You have been raised to a heightwhich has turned your head, your eyes have been dazzled by thegilding of your spurs, and you have fancied yourself a man; but inyour own county and your own family, airs are not to be borne. Werate you at what you are worth, and are not to be imposed on by idletales which the boastful young men of the Prince's court frame ofeach other. Give up these pretensions, depart in peace to yourfellows at Bordeaux, and we will forget your insolent interference."

"Never, while I live," replied Eustace. "Vassals of Lynwood, guardyour young Lord."

"Vassals of Lynwood," said Fulk, will you see your young Lord carriedoff to perish in some unknown region, and yourselves left a prey toan adventurer and freebooter?"

"For that matter, my Lord," said an old farmer, "if all tales be true,Master Arthur is like to learn less harm with Sir Eustace than in yourjolly household--I for one will stand by our good Lord's brother tothe last. What say you, comrades?"

"Hurrah for the Lances of Lynwood!" shouted John Ingram, and the crywas taken up by many a gruff honest voice, till the hall rang again,and the opposing shout of "a Clarenham, a Clarenham!" was raised bythe retainers of the Baron. Eustace, at the same moment, raised hisnephew in his arms, and lifted him up into the embrasure of one ofthe high windows. Sir Philip Ashton still hung upon Clarenham,pleading in broken sentences which were lost in the uproar: "Hold!Hold! my Lord. Nay, nay, think but"--(here he was thrust roughlyaside by Fulk)--"Sir Eustace, do but hear--it will be a matter forthe council--in the name of the King--for the love of Heaven--Leonard,son Leonard! for Heaven's sake what have you to do with the matter?Down with that sword, and follow me! Dost not hear, froward boy?Our names will be called in question! Leonard, on your duty--Ha!have a care! there!"

These last words were broken short, as Gaston, rushing forwards tohis master's side, overthrew the table, which carried Sir Philip withit in the fall, and he lay prostrate under the boards, a stumbling-block to a stream of eager combatants, who one after another dashedagainst him, fell, and either rose again, or remained kicking andstruggling with each other.

After several minutes' confused fighting, the tumult cleared away,as it were, leaving the principals on each side opposite to eachother, and as the fortune of the day rested on their conflict, allbecame gradually fixed in attention, resting upon their weapons, inreadiness at any moment to renew their own portion of the combat.

Fulk, tall and robust, had far more the appearance of strength thanhis slenderly-made antagonist, but three years in the school ofchivalry had not been wasted by Eustace, and the sword of Du Guesclinwas in a hand well accustomed to its use. Old Ralph was utteringunder his breath ecstatic exclamations: "Ha! Well struck! A rarefoil--a perfect hit--Have a care--Ah! there comes my old blow--Thatis right--Old Sir Henry's master-stroke-- There--one of your newFrench backstrokes--but it told--Oh! have a care--The Saints guard--Ay--There--Follow it up! Hurrah for Lynwood!" as Fulk tottered,slipped, sank on one knee, and receiving a severe blow on the headwith the back of the sword, measured his length on the ground.

"Hurrah for Lynwood!" re-echoed through the hall, but Eustace cutshort the clamour at once, by saying, "Peace, my friends, and thanks!Sir Fulk de Clarenham," he added, as his fallen foe moved, and beganto raise himself, "you have received a lesson, by which I hope youwill profit. Leave the house, whose mourning you have insulted, andthank your relationship that I forbear to bring this outrage to thenotice of the King."

While Eustace spoke, Fulk had, by the assistance of two of hisretainers, recovered his feet; but though unwounded, he was sodizzied with the blow as to be passive in their hands, and toallow himself to be led into the court, and placed on his horse.Before riding out of the gates, he turned round, and clenchinghis fist, glanced malignantly at Eustace, and muttered, "You shallaby it."

Another shout of "Down with the false Clarenham! Hurrah for theLances of Lynwood, and the brave young Knight!" was raised in thecourt by the peasantry, among whom Fulk was so much hated, that noteven regard for their future welfare could prevent them from indulgingin this triumph. Probably, too, they expected the satisfaction ofdrinking the health of the victor, for there were many disappointedcountenances when he spoke from the steps of the porch:--"Thanks foryour good-will, my friends. Fare ye well, depart in peace, andremember your young Lord." Then turning to the parish Priest, headded, in a low voice, "See that they leave the Castle as soon aspossible. The gates must be secured as soon as may be."

He turned back into the hall, and at the door was met by littleArthur, who caught hold of his hand, exclaiming, "So you havewon me, and shall keep me forever, Uncle Eustace; but come in,for here is poor old Sir Philip, who was thrown down under thetable in the scuffle, bemoaning himself most lamentably."

"Sir Philip hurt?" said Eustace, who, vexed as he was by Sir Philip'sbehaviour, preserved a certain neighbourly hereditary respect forhim; "I trust not seriously," and he advanced towards the arm-chair,where Sir Philip Ashton was sitting, attended by Father Cyril and aman-at-arms, and groaning and complaining of his bruises, while atthe same time he ordered the horses to be brought out as speedily aspossible.

"Surely," said Eustace, "you should not be in such haste, Sir Philip.I grieve that you should have met with this mishap. But you hadbetter remain here, and try what rest will do for you."

"Remain here!" said Sir Philip, almost shuddering. "Nay, nay, myyoung Sir, I would not have you to remain here, nor any of us, forlonger space than the saddling of a horse. Alas! alas! my youngfriend, I grieve for you. I loved your father well.--Look from thewindow, Leonard. Are the horses led forth?"

"Thanks, Sir Eustace; but--Ah! my back!--but I would not remain underthis roof for more than you could give me. I should but endangermyself without benefiting you. Alas! alas! that I should have fallenupon such a fray! I am sorry for you, my brave youth!"

"I thank you, Sir Philip, but I know not what I have done to deserveyour concern."

"Hot blood! wilful blood!" said Sir Philip, shaking his head. "Arethe horses come? Here! your hand, Leonard, help me to rise--Ah! ah!not so fast--Oh! I shall never get over it! There--mind you, I didall to prevent this unhappy business--I am clear of it! Fare youwell, Sir Eustace--take an old man's advice, give up the boy, andleave the country before worse comes of it."

"What is likely to come of it?" said Eustace; "Clarenham made anuncalled-for, unjust, shameless attempt to seize the person ofmy ward. I repelled him by force of arms, and I think he wouldscarce like to call the attention of justice to his own share inthe matter."

"Ah! well, you speak boldly, but before you have reached my years,you will have learnt what it is to have for your foe the most mightyman of the county--nay, of the court; for your foe, Lord de Clarenham,is in close friendship with the Earl of Pembroke. Beware, my youngfriend, beware!"

When the hall was clear of guests, a council was held between theKnight, the Priest, and the two Esquires. Its result was, thatArthur's person, as the most important point, should be secured,by his uncle carrying him at once to the Prince's protection atBordeaux; but it was only with difficulty that Eustace wasprevailed on to fly, as he said, from his accusers. The goodFather had to say, with a smile, that after all there was as muchneed for patience and submission under the helm as under the cowl,before Eustace at length consented. Cyril meanwhile was to lay thecase before the Chancellor, William of Wykeham, and Eustace gave himletters to the Duke of Lancaster and to Sir Richard Ferrars, in thehopes of their recommending his suit.

Eustace then received from the hands of the Priest a bag of goldcoins, his portion as a younger son, part of which he gave to bedistributed in alms, part he still confided to Father Cyril'skeeping, and the rest he was to take away for present needs--andthey parted for the last night of his brief stay at Lynwood Keep.

CHAPTER X

In the early morning, Sir Eustace and his few followers were intheir saddles, little Arthur riding between his uncle and Gaston.The chief part of the day was spent on the journey. They dined, toArthur's glee, on provisions they had brought with them, seated ona green bank near a stream, and at evening found themselves at thedoor of a large hostel, its open porch covered by a vine.

The host and his attendants ran out at first to meet them withalacrity, but, on seeing them, appeared disappointed. And as theKnight, dismounting, ordered supper and bed, the host replied thathe could indeed engage to find food, and to accommodate theirsteeds, but that the whole of the inn had been secured on behalfof two noble ladies and their train, who were each moment expected.

"Be it so," said Eustace; "a truss of hay beside our horses, or asettle by the fire, is all we need. Here is a taste already of awarrior's life for you, Arthur."

The boy was delighted, certain that to sleep beside his pony was farmore delightful, as well as more manly, than to rest in his bed, likea lady at home.

As this was arranged, a sound of horses' feet approached, and aband of men-at-arms rode up to the door. Arthur started andseized his uncle's hand as he recognized the Clarenham coloursand badge, uttering an exclamation of dismay. "Never fear,Arthur," said Eustace, "they come from the way opposite to ours.It is not pursuit. See, it is an escort--there are ladies amongthem."

"Four!" said Arthur. "Uncle, that tall dame in black must be theLady Muriel. And surely the white veil tied with rose-colourbelongs to kind Cousin Agnes."

"True! These are no Clarenhams to guard against," said Eustace tohis Squire, who looked ready for action. "Lady Muriel, the step-mother of the Baron and his sister, is my godmother, and, by birth,a Lynwood."

Then stepping forward, he assisted the elder lady to dismount; shereturned his courtesy by a slight inclination, as to a stranger,but her companion, who had lightly sprung to the ground, no soonerperceived him than she exclaimed, "Eustace!" then laying her handon Lady Muriel's arm, "Mother, it is Sir Eustace Lynwood."

"Ha! my gallant godson!" said the Baroness, greeting him cordially."Well met, brave youth! No wonder in that knightly figure I did notknow my kinswoman's little page. How does my gentle niece, Eleanor?"

"Alack! then you have not heard the tidings?" said Eustace.

"We heard long since she was sick with grief," said Lady Muriel, muchalarmed. "What mean you? Is she worse? You weep--surely she stilllives!"

"Ah! honoured dame, we come even now from laying her in her grave.Here is her orphan boy."

Young Agnes could not restrain a cry of grief and horror, and tryingto repress her weeping till it should be without so many witnesses,Lady Muriel and her bower-woman led her to their apartments in theinn. Eustace was greatly affected by her grief. She had oftenaccompanied her step-mother on visits to Lynwood Keep in the peacefuldays of their childhood; she had loved no sport better than to sitlistening to his romantic discourses of chivalry, and had found inthe shy, delicate, dreamy boy, something congenial to her own quietnature; and, in short, when Eustace indulged in a vision, Agnes wasever the lady of it, the pale slight Agnes, with no beauty save herlarge soft brown eyes, that seemed to follow and take in every fancyor thought of his. Agnes was looked down on,--her father thought shewould do him little honour,--her brother cared not for her; save forher step-mother she would have met with little fostering attention,and when Eustace saw her set aside and disregarded, his heart hadbounded with the thought that when he should lay his trophies at herfeet, Agnes would be honoured for his sake. But Eustace's honourshad been barren, and he could only look back with a sad heart to thefancies of his youth, when he had deemed Knight-errantry might winthe lady of his love.

Eleanor had been one of the few who had known and loved the damselof Clarenham, and had encouraged her to lay aside her timidity.Agnes wept for her as a sister, and still could hardly restrainher sobs, when Eustace and his nephew were invited to the presenceof the ladies to narrate their melancholy tale.

Many tears were shed, and caresses lavished upon the orphan. Theladies asked his destination, and on hearing that he was to betaken to the Prince's court at Bordeaux, Agnes said, "We, too, arebound to the Prince's court. I am to journey thither with Fulk.Were it not better for Arthur to travel with us? Most carefullywould we guard him. It would spare him many a hardship, for whichhe is scarce old enough; and his company would be a solace, almosta protection to me. My pretty playfellow, will you be my travellingcompanion?"

"I would go with you, Cousin Agnes, for you are kind and gentle, andI love you well; but a brave Knight's son must learn to rough it;and besides, I would not go with Sir Fulk, your brother, for he isa false and cruel Knight, who persecuted my blessed mother to thevery death."

"Can this be? O speak, Eustace!" said Agnes. "What means the boy?Hath Fulk shown himself other than a loving kinsman?"

The Baroness, who understood her step-son's character better thandid his young sister, and who was informed of the old enmity betweenthe two houses, felt considerable anxiety as to what they were nowto hear; when Eustace, beginning, "Ah, Lady, I grieve twice in theday to sadden your heart; yet since so much has been said, it werebest to relate the whole truth," proceeded to tell what had passedrespecting the wardship of young Arthur. Agnes's eyes filled withburning tears of indignation. "O dear Lady Mother!" cried she, "takeme back to our Convent! How can I meet my brother! How conceal myanger and my shame!"

"This is far worse than even I feared," said Lady Muriel. "I knewFulk to be unscrupulous and grasping, but I did not think him capableof such foul oppression. For you, my sweet Agnes--would that I couldprevail on him to leave you in the safe arms of the cloister-- but,alas! I have no right to detain you from a brother's guardianship."

"I dreaded this journey much before," said Agnes; "but now, even mytrust in Fulk is gone; I shall see round me no one in whom to placeconfidence. Alas! alas!"

"Nay, fair Agnes," said Eustace, "he will surely be a kind brotherto thee--he cannot be otherwise."

"How love and trust when there is no esteem? Oh, Mother, Mother!this is loneliness indeed! In that strange, courtly throng, whowill protect and shelter me?"

"There is an Arm--" began the Baroness.

"Yes, noble Lady, there is one arm," eagerly exclaimed Eustace, "thatwould only deem itself too much honoured if it could be raised in yourservice."

"I spoke of no arm of flesh," said Lady Muriel, reprovingly--andEustace hung his head abashed. "I spake of the Guardian who willnever be wanting to the orphan."

There was a silence, first broken by Eustace. "One thing there is,that I would fain ask of your goodness," said he: "many a false tale,many a foul slander, will be spoken of me, and many may give heed tothem; but let that be as it will, they shall not render my heartheavy while I can still believe that you give no ear to them."

"Sir Eustace," said the Lady of Clarenham, "I have known you fromchildhood, and it would go hard with me to believe aught dishonourableof the pupil of Sir Reginald and of Eleanor."

"Yes, Sir Eustace," added Agnes, "it would break my heart to distrustyou; for then I must needs believe that faith, truth, and honour hadleft the world."

"And now," said Lady Muriel, who thought the conversation had beensufficiently tender to fulfil all the requirements of the connectionof families, and of their old companionship, "now, Agnes, we musttake leave of our kind kinsman, since, doubtless, he will desire torenew his journey early to-morrow."

Eustace took the hint, and bent his knee to kiss the hands whichwere extended to him by the two ladies; then left the room, feeling,among all the clouds which darkened his path, one clear bright rayto warm and gladden his heart. Agnes trusted his truth, Agnes wouldbe at Bordeaux,--he might see her, and she would hear of his deeds.

Agnes, while she wept over her kinswoman's death and her brother'sfaults, rejoiced in having met her old playfellow, and found him asnoble a Knight as her fancy had often pictured him; and in themeanwhile, the good old Lady Muriel sighed to herself, and shookher head at the thought of the sorrows which an attachment wouldsurely cause to these two young creatures.

It was early in the morning that Eustace summoned his nephew fromthe couch which one of the Clarenham retainers had yielded him, and,mounting their horses, they renewed their journey towards the coast.

Without further adventure, the Lances of Lynwood, as Arthur stillchose to call their little party, safely arrived at Rennes, thecapital of Brittany, where Jean de Montford held his court. Herethey met the tidings that Charles V. had summoned the Prince ofWales to appear at his court, to answer an appeal made againsthim to the sovereign by the vassals of the Duchy of Aquitaine.Edward's answer was, that he would appear indeed, but that itshould be in full armour, with ten thousand Knights and Squiresat his back; and the war had already been renewed.

The intelligence added to Eustace's desire to be at Bordeaux, buthe could not venture through the enemy's country without exposinghimself to death or captivity; and even within the confines ofBrittany itself, Duke John, though bound by gratitude and affectionto the alliance of the King, who had won for him his ducal coronet,was unable to control the enmity which his subjects bore to theEnglish, and assured the Knight that a safe-conduct from him wouldonly occasion his being robbed and murdered in secret, instead ofbeing taken a prisoner in fair fight and put to ransom.

If Eustace had been alone with his staunch followers, he would havetrusted to their good swords and swift steeds; but to place Arthurin such perils would be but to justify Fulk's accusations; and therewas no alternative but to accept the offer made to him by Jean deMontford, for the sake of his Duchess, a daughter of Edward III., toremain a guest at his court until the arrival of a sufficient partyof English Knights, who were sure to be attracted by the news ofthe war.

No less than two months was he obliged to wait, during which bothhe and Gaston chafed grievously under their forced captivity; butat length he learnt that a band of Free Companions had arrived atRennes, on their way to offer their service to the Prince of Wales;accordingly he set forth, and after some interval found himself oncemore in the domains of the house of Plantagenet.

It was late in the evening when he rode through the gates of Bordeaux,and sought the abode of the good old Gascon merchant, where he hadalways lodged. He met with a ready welcome, and inquiring into themost recent news of the town, learnt that the Prince was consideredto be slightly improved in health; but that no word was spoken ofthe army taking the field, and the war was chiefly carried on by thesiege of Castles. He asked for Sir John Chandos, and was told thathigh words had passed between him and the Prince respecting a hearth-tax, and that since he had returned to his government, and seldomor never appeared at the council board. It was the Earl of Pembrokewho was all-powerful there. And here the old Gascon wandered intolamentable complaints of the aforesaid hearth-tax, from which Eustacecould scarcely recall him to answer whether the English Baron deClarenham had arrived at Bordeaux. He had come, and with as splendida train as ever was beheld, and was in high favour at court.

This was no pleasing intelligence, but Eustace determined to go thenext day to present his nephew to the Prince immediately after thenoontide meal, when it was the wont of the Plantagenet Princes tothrow their halls open to their subjects.

Accordingly, leading Arthur by the hand, and attended by Gaston, hemade his appearance in the hall just as the banquet was concluded,but ere the Knights had dispersed. Many well-known faces were there,but as he advanced up the space between the two long tables, he wasamazed at meeting scarce one friendly glance of recognition; somelooked unwilling to seem to know him, and returned his salutationwith distant coldness; others gazed at the window, or were intent ontheir wine, and of these was Leonard Ashton, whom to his surprise hesaw seated among the Knights.

Thus he passed on until he had nearly reached the dais where dinedthe Prince and the personages of the most exalted rank. Here hepaused as his anxious gaze fell upon the Prince, and marked hiscountenance and mien--alas! how changed! He sat in his richly-carved chair, wrapped in a velvet mantle, which, even on thatbright day of a southern spring, he drew closer round him with ashuddering chilliness. His elbow rested on the arm of his chair,and his wasted cheek leant on his hand--the long thin fingers ofwhich showed white and transparent as a lady's; his eyes were benton the ground, and a look of suffering or of moody thought hung overthe whole of that face, once full of free and open cheerfulness.Tears filled Eustace's eyes as he beheld that wreck of manhood andthought of that bright day of hope and gladness when his brotherhad presented him to the Prince.

As he hesitated to advance, the Prince, raising his eyes, encounteredthat earnest and sorrowful gaze, but only responding by a stern glanceof displeasure. Eustace, however, stepped forward, and bending oneknee, said, "My Lord, I come to report myself as returned to yourservice, and at the same time to crave for my nephew the protectionyou were graciously pleased to promise him."

"It is well, Sir Eustace Lynwood," said Edward, coldly, and with amovement of his head, as if to dismiss him from his presence; "andyou, boy, come hither," he added as Arthur, seeing his uncle riseand retreat a few steps, was following his example. "I loved yourfather well," he said, laying his hand on the boy's bright wavy hair,"and you shall find in me a steady friend as long as you proveyourself not unworthy of the name you bear."

In spite of the awe with which Arthur felt his head pressed bythat royal hand, in spite of his reverence for the hero and thePrince, he raised his eyes and looked upon the face of the Princewith an earnest, pleading, almost upbraiding gaze, as if, child ashe was, he deprecated the favour, which so evidently marked theslight shown to his uncle. But the Prince did not heed him, andrising from his chair, said, "Thine arm, Clarenham. Let us to thePrincess, and present her new page. Follow me, boy."

With a wistful look at his uncle, standing alone on the step ofthe dais, Arthur reluctantly followed the Prince as, leaning onClarenham's arm, he left the hall, and, crossing a gallery, entereda large apartment. At one end was a canopy embroidered with thearms and badges of the heir of England, and beneath it were twochairs of state, one of which was occupied by Joan Plantagenet,Princess of Wales, once the Fair Maid of Kent, and though now longpast her youth, still showing traces of beauty befitting the ladyfor whom her royal cousin had displayed such love and constancy.

As her husband entered, she rose, and looking anxiously at him, whileshe came forward to meet him, inquired whether he felt fatigued. "No,my fair dame," replied the Prince, "I came but to present you your newpage; the young cousin, respecting whose safety my Lord de Clarenhamhath been so much in anxiety."

"Then it is his uncle who hath brought him?" asked Joan.

"Yes," replied Edward, "he himself brought him to the hall, and evenhad the presumption to claim the protection for him that I pledged tohis father, when I deemed far otherwise of this young Eustace."

"What account does he give of the length of time that he has spenton the road?" asked the Princess.

"Ay, there is the strangest part of the tale," said Fulk Clarenham,with a sneer, "since he left the poor simple men at Lynwoodbelieving that he was coming at full speed to seek my Lord thePrince's protection for the child, a convenient excuse for eludingthe inquiries of justice into his brawls at the funeral, as wellas for the rents which he carried off with him; but somewhatinconsistent when it is not for five months that he makes hisappearance at Bordeaux, and then in the society of a band of_routiers_."

"It shall be inquired into," said the Prince.

"Nay, nay, my Lord," said Fulk, "may I pray you of your royal goodnessto press the matter no further. He is still young, and it were a pityto cast dishonour on a name which has hitherto been honourable. Sincemy young cousin is safe, I would desire no more, save to guard himfrom his future machinations. For his brother's sake, my Lord, Iwould plead with you."

"Little did I think such things of him," said the Prince, "when Ilaid knighthood on his shoulder in the battle-field of Navaretta;yet I remember even then old Chandos chid me for over-hastiness.Poor old Chandos, he has a rough tongue, but a true heart!"

"And, under favour, I would say," answered Clarenham, "that itmight have been those early-won honours that turned the head ofsuch a mere youth, so entirely without guidance, or rather, withthe guidance of that dissolute Squire, who, I grieve to observe,still haunts his footsteps. Knighthood, with nought to maintainit, is, in truth, a snare."

"Well, I am weary of the subject," said the Prince, leaning back inhis chair. "The boy is safe, and, as you say, Fulk, that is allthat is of importance. Call hither the troubadour that was in thehall at noon. I would have your opinion of his lay," he added,turning to his wife.

The indignation may be imagined with which Arthur listened to thisconversation, as he stood on the spot to which Edward had signed tohim to advance, when he presented him to the Princess. He longedardently to break in with an angry refutation of the slanders caston his uncle, but he was too well trained in the rules of chivalry,to say nothing of the awful respect with which he regarded thePrince, to attempt to utter a word, and he could only edge himselfas far away as was possible from Clarenham, and cast at him glancesof angry reproach.

His uneasy movements were interpreted as signs of fatigue andimpatience of restraint by one of the ladies, who was sitting at nogreat distance, a very beautiful and graceful maiden, the Lady MaudeHolland, daughter to the Princess of Wales, by her first marriage;and she kindly held out her hand to him, saying, "Come hither, mypretty page. You have not learnt to stand stiff and straight, likeone of the supporters of a coat-of-arms. Come hither, and let melead you to company better suited to your years."

Arthur came willingly, as there was no more to hear about his uncle;and besides, it was away from the hateful Clarenham. She led himacross the hall to a tall arched doorway, opening upon a wide andbeautiful garden, filled with the plants and shrubs of the south ofFrance, and sloping gently down to the broad expanse of the bluewaves of the Garonne. She looked round on all sides, and seeing noone, made a few steps forward on the greensward, then called aloud,"Thomas!" no answer, "Edward! Harry of Lancaster!" but still herclear silvery voice was unheeded, until a servant came from someother part of the building, and, bowing, awaited her orders. "Whereare Lord Edward and the rest?" she asked.

"None," repeated Lady Maude, "save the little Lord Richard, whosebaby company your pageship would hardly esteem. You must try toendure the quietness of the lady's chamber, unless you would wishto be at once introduced to the grave master of the Damoiseaux."

At this moment Arthur's eye fell upon a lady who had just emergedfrom a long shady alley, up which she had been slowly walking, andthe bright look of recognition which lighted up his face, was sodifferent from the shy and constrained expression he had hithertoworn, that Lady Maude remarked it, and following his gaze, said,"Lady Agnes de Clarenham? Ah yes, she is of kin to you. Let usgo meet her." Then, as they approached, she said, "Here, Agnes, Ihave brought you a young cousin of yours, whom the Prince has justconducted into my mother's chamber, where he bore so rueful acountenance that I grew pitiful enough to come forth on a bootlesserrand after his fellow Damoiseaux, who, it seems, are all out riding.So I shall even leave him to you, for there is a troubadour in thehall, whose lay I greatly long to hear."

Away tripped Lady Maude, well pleased to be free from the burthen hergood-nature had imposed on her.

"Arthur," exclaimed Agnes, "what joy to see you! Is your uncle here?"

"Yes," said Arthur, "but oh, Cousin Agnes! if you had been by to hearthe foul slanders which Sir Fulk has been telling the Prince--oh,Agnes! you would disown him for your brother."

"Arthur," said Agnes, with a voice almost of anguish, "how could he--why did he tarry so long on the road?"

"How could we come on when the Duke of Brittany himself said it wascertain death or captivity? We were forced to wait for an escort.And now, Agnes, think of your brother saying that Uncle Eustacecarried off the rents of Lynwood, when every man in the Castlecould swear it was only the money Father Cyril had in keeping forhis inheritance."

"Alas!" said Agnes.

"And the Prince will believe it--the Prince looks coldly on himalready, and my uncle loves the Prince like his own life. Oh, hewill be ready to die with grief! Agnes! Agnes! what is to bedone? But you don't believe it!" he proceeded, seeing that shewas weeping bitterly. "You do not believe it--you promised younever would! Oh say you do not believe it!"

"I do not, Arthur; I never believed half they said of him; but oh,that long delay was a sore trial to my confidence, and cruellyconfirmed their tales."

"And think of Fulk, too, hindering the Prince from inquiring, becausehe says he would spare my uncle for my father's sake, when the truthis, he only fears that the blackness of his own designs should beseen! And Gaston, too, he slandered. Oh, Agnes! Agnes! that thereshould be such wickedness, and we able to do nought!"

"Nought but weep and pray!" said Agnes. "And yet I can bear itbetter now that you are here. Your presence refutes the worstaccusation, and removes a heavy weight from my mind."

"You distrust him too! I cannot love you if you do."

"Never, never! I only feared some evil had befallen you, andgrieved to see the use made of your absence. Your coming shouldmake my heart light again."

"Shall I often see you, Cousin Agnes? for there is none else in thiswide Castle that I shall care for."

"Oh yes, Arthur, there are full twenty pages little older thanyourself--Lord Thomas Holland, the Prince's stepson, brother tothe lady that led you to me; little Piers de Greilly, nephew tothe Captal de Buch; young Lord Henry of Lancaster; and the littlePrince Edward himself. You will have no lack of merry playmates."

"Ah, but to whom can I talk of my blessed mother and of Uncle Eustace,and of Lynwood Keep, and poor old Blanc Etoile, that I promised RalphI would bear in mind?"

"Well, Arthur," said Agnes, cheerfully, "it is the pages' duty to waiton the ladies in hall and bower, and the ladies' office to teach themall courtly manners, and hear them read and say the Credo and Ave.You shall be my own especial page and servant. Is it agreed?"

"Oh yes," said the boy. "I wonder if the master of the Damoiseauxis as strict as that lady said, and I wonder when I shall see UncleEustace again."

CHAPTER XI

If Arthur Lynwood felt desolate when he left his uncle's side, itwas not otherwise with Sir Eustace as he lost sight of the child,who had so long been his charge, and who repaid his anxiety withsuch confiding affection. The coveted fame, favour, and distinctionseemed likewise to have deserted him. The Prince's coldness hungheavily on him, and as he cast his eyes along the ranks of familiarfaces, not one friendly look cheered him. His greetings were returnedwith coldness, and a grave haughty courtesy was the sole welcome.Chafed and mortified, he made a sign to Gaston, and they were soonin the street once more.

"Coward clown!" burst forth Gaston at once. "Would that I couldsend all his grinning teeth down the false throat of him!"

"Whose? What mean you?"

"Whose but that sulky recreant, Ashton? He has done well to obtainknighthood, or I would beat him within an inch of his life with myhalbert, and if he dared challenge me, slay him as I would a carrioncrown! He a Knight! Thanks to his acres and to Lord Pembroke!"

"Patience, patience, Gaston--I have not yet heard of what heaccuses me."

"No! he has learnt policy--he saith it not openly! He would denyit, as did his Esquire when I taxed him with it! Would that youcould not tell a letter! Sir Eustace, of your favour let me burnevery one of your vile books."

"My innocent friends! Nay, nay, Gaston--they are too knightly tomerit such measure. Then it is the old accusation of witchcraft,I suppose. So I was in league with the Castilian witch and hercats, was I?"

"Ay; and her broom-stick or her cats wafted you to Lynwood, whereyou suddenly stood in the midst of the mourners, borne into thehall on a howling blast! How I got there, I am sorry to say, thecraven declared not, lest I should give him the lie at once!"

"But surely, such a tale is too absurd and vulgar to deceive ournoble Prince."

"Oh, there is another version for his ears. This is only for thelower sort, who might not have thought the worse of you forkidnapping your nephew, vowing his mother should remain unburiedtill he was in your hands, and carrying off all his rents."

"That is Clarenham's slander."

"Yes."

"And credited by the Prince? Oh! little did I think the hand whichlaid knighthood on my shoulder should repent the boon that it gave!"exclaimed Eustace, with a burst of sorrow rather than anger.

"Do you not challenge the traitor at once?"

"I trow not, unless he speaks the charge to my face. Father Cyrildeclared that any outbreak on my part would damage our cause in theeyes of the Chancellor; we must bide our time. Since Arthur issafe, I will bear my own burden. I am guiltless in this matter,and I trust that the blessing of Heaven on my deeds shall restorea name, obscured, but not tarnished."

The resolution to forbear was tested, for time passed on withoutvindicating him. With such art had the toils of his enemies beenspread, that no opening was left him for demanding an explanation.The calumnies could only be brought home to the lowest retainers ofClarenham and Ashton, and the only result of the zealous refutationby the followers of Sir Eustace was a brawl between John Ingram anda yeoman of Clarenham's, ending in their spending a week in thecustody of the Provost Marshal.

Had there been any tournament or like sport at Bordeaux, Eustacecould have asserted his place, and challenged the attention ofthe court; but the state of the Prince's health prevented suchspectacles; nor had he any opportunity of acquiring honour by hisdeeds in arms. No army took the field on either side, and the warwas chiefly carried on by expeditions for the siege or relief offrontier castles; and here his unusual rank as Knight Banneretstood in his way, since it was contrary to etiquette for him to puthimself under the command of a Knight Bachelor. He was condemnedtherefore to a weary life of inaction, the more galling, becausehis poverty made it necessary to seek maintenance as formerly atthe Prince's table, where he was daily reminded, by the altereddemeanour of his acquaintance, of the unjust suspicions beneathwhich he laboured. He had hoped that a dismissal from his postin the Prince's band would give him the much-desired opportunityof claiming a hearing, but he was permitted to receive his pay andallowance as usual, and seemed completely overlooked. It waswell that Gaston's gay temper could not easily be saddened bytheir circumstances, and his high spirits and constant attachmentoften cheered his Knight in their lonely evenings. Eustace hadmore than once striven to persuade him to forsake his failingfortunes; but to this the faithful Squire would never consent,vowing that he was as deeply implicated in all their accusationsas Sir Eustace himself; and who would wish to engage a fellow-servant of the black cats! There were two others whom Eustacewould fain believe still confided in his truth and honour, hisnephew Arthur, and Lady Agnes de Clarenham; but he never saw them,and often his heart sank at the thought of the impression that theuniversal belief might make on the minds of both. And to add tohis depression, a rumour prevailed throughout Bordeaux that theBaron of Clarenham had promised his sister's hand to Sir LeonardAshton.

Nearly a year had passed since Eustace had left England, and hissituation continued unchanged. Perhaps the Prince regarded himwith additional displeasure, since news had arrived that SirRichard Ferrars had made application to the Duke of Lancaster tointerest the King in the cause of the guardianship; for there was,at this time, a strong jealousy, in the mind of the Prince, of themighty power and influence of John of Gaunt, which he already fearedmight be used to the disadvantage of his young sons.

The cause was, at length, decided, and a letter from good FatherCyril conveyed to Eustace the intelligence that the Chancellor,William of Wykeham, Bishop of Winchester, having given due weightto Sir Reginald's dying words and Lady Lynwood's testament, hadpronounced Sir Eustace Lynwood the sole guardian of the person andestate of his nephew, and authorized all the arrangements he hadmade on his departure.

Affairs altogether began to wear a brighter aspect. The firstindignation against Sir Eustace had subsided, and he was treated,in general, with indifference rather than marked scorn. Thegallant old Chandos was again on better terms with the Prince,and, coming to Bordeaux, made two or three expeditions, in whichEustace volunteered to join, and gained some favourable, thoughslight, notice from the old Knight. Fulk Clarenham, too, havingreceived from the Prince the government of Perigord, was seldomat court, and no active enemy appeared to be at work against him.

Agnes de Clarenham, always retiring and pensive, and seldom soughtout by those who admired gayer damsels, was sitting apart in theembrasure of a window, whence, through an opening in the trees ofthe garden, she could catch a distant glimpse of the blue watersof the river where it joined the sea, which separated her from hernative land, and from her who had ever been as a mother to her. Shewas so lost in thought, that she scarce heard a step approaching,till the unwelcome sound of "Fair greeting to you, Lady Agnes"caused her to look up and behold the still more unwelcome form ofSir Leonard Ashton. To escape from him was the first idea, for hisclownish manners, always unpleasant to her, had become doubly so,since he had presumed upon her brother's favour to offer to heraddresses from which she saw no escape; and with a brief reply of"Thanks for your courtesy, Sir Knight," she was about to rise andmingle with the rest of the party, when he proceeded, bluntly,"Lady Agnes, will you do me a favour?"

"I know of no favour in my power," said she.

"Nay," he said, "it is easily done, and it is as much to your brotheras to myself. It is a letter which, methinks, Fulk would not haveread out of the family, of which I may call myself one," and he gavea sort of smirk at Agnes;--"but he writes so crabbedly, that I, forone, cannot read two lines,--and I would not willingly give it to aclerk, who might be less secret. So methought, as 'twas the Baron'saffair, I would even bring it here, and profit by your Convent-breeding, Lady Agnes."

Agnes took the letter, and began to read:--

"For the hand of the Right Noble and Worshipful Knight, Sir Leonard Ashton, at the court of my Lord the Prince of Wales, these:--

"Fair Sir, and brother-in-arms--I hereby do you to wit, that the affair whereof we spoke goes well. Both my Lord of Pembroke, and Sir John Chandos, readily undertook to move the Prince to grant the Banneret you wot of the government of the Castle, and as he hath never forgotten the love he once bore to his brother, he will the more easily be persuaded. Of the garrison we are sure, and all that is now needful is, that the one-eyed Squire, whereof you spoke to me, should receive warning before he arrives at the Castle.

"Tell him to choose his time, and manage matters so that there may be no putting to ransom. He will understand my meaning. "Greeting you well, therefore, "Fulk, Baron of Clarenham."

"What means this?" exclaimed Agnes, as a tissue of treachery openedbefore her eyes.

"Ay, that you may say," said Leonard, his slow brain only fixed uponFulk's involved sentences, and utterly unconscious of the horrorexpressed in her tone. "How is a man to understand what he wouldhave me to do? Send to Le Borgne Basque at Chateau Norbelle? Isthat it? Read it to me once again, Lady, for the love of the Saints.What am I to tell Le Borgne Basque? No putting to ransom, doth hesay? He might be secure enough for that matter--Eustace Lynwood islittle like to ransom himself."

"But what mean you?" said Agnes, eagerly hoping that she had doneher brother injustice in her first horrible thought. "Sir EustaceLynwood, if you spake of him, is no prisoner, but is here at Bordeaux."

"He shall not long be so," said Leonard. "Heard you not this verynoon that the Prince bestows on him the government of Chateau Norbelleon the marches of Gascony? Well, that is the matter treated of inthis letter. Let me see, let me see, how was it to be? Yes, thatis it! It is Le Borgne Basque who is Seneschal. Ay, true, that Iknow,--and 'twas he who was to admit Clisson's men."

"Admit Clisson's men!"

"Ay--'tis one of those Castles built by the old Paladin, Renaud deMontauban, that Eustace used to talk about. I ween he did notknow of this trick that will be played on himself--and all of themhave, they say, certain secret passages leading through the vaultsinto the Castle. Le Borgne Basque knows them all, for he has servedmuch in those parts, and Fulk placed him as Seneschal for the verypurpose."

"For the purpose of admitting Clisson's men? Do I understand youright, Sir Knight, or do my ears play me false?"

"Yes, I speak right. Do you not see, Lady Agnes, it is the only wayto free your house of this stumbling-block--this beggarly upstartEustace--who, as long as he lives, will never acknowledge Fulk'srights, and would bring up his nephew to the same pride."

"And is it possible, Sir Leonard, that brother of mine, and beltedKnight, should devise so foul a scheme of treachery! Oh, unsay itagain! Let me believe it was my own folly that conjured up somonstrous a thought!"

"Ay, that is the way with women," said Leonard; "they never look atthe sense of the matter. Why, this Eustace, what terms should bekept with him, who has dealings with the Evil One? and--"

"I will neither hear a noble Knight maligned, nor suffer him to bebetrayed," interrupted Agnes. "I have listened to you too long,Sir Leonard Ashton, and will stain my ears no longer. I thank you,however, for having given me such warning as to enable me to traversethem."

"What will you do?" asked Leonard, with a look of impotent anger.

"Appeal instantly to the Prince. Tell him the use that is made ofhis Castles, and the falsehoods told him of his most true-heartedKnight!" and Agnes, with glancing eyes, was already rising for thepurpose, forgetting, in her eager indignation, all that must follow,when Leonard, muttering "What madness possessed me to tell her!"stood full before her, saying, gloomily, "Do so, Lady, if youchoose to ruin your brother!" The timid girl stood appalled, asthe horrible consequences of such an accusation arose before her.

That same day Eustace was summoned to the Prince's presence.

"Sir Eustace Lynwood," said Edward, gravely, "I hear you have servedthe King well beneath the banner of Sir John Chandos. Your friendshave wrought with me to give you occasion to prove yourself worthyof your spurs, and I have determined to confer on you the governmentof my Chateau of Norbelle, on the frontier of Gascony, trusting tofind you a true and faithful governor and Castellane."

"I trust, my Lord, that you have never had occasion to deem lesshonourably of me," said Eustace; and his clear open eye and browcourted rather than shunned the keen look of scrutiny that thePrince fixed upon him. His heart leapt at the hope that the timefor inquiry was come, but the Prince in another moment sank hiseyes again, with more, however, of the weary impatience of illnessthan of actual displeasure, and merely replied, "Kneel down, then,Sir Knight, and take the oaths of fidelity."

Eustace obeyed, hardly able to suppress a sigh at the disappointmentof his hopes.

"You will receive the necessary orders and supplies from Sir JohnChandos, and from the Treasurer," said Edward, in a tone thatintimated the conclusion of the conference; and Eustace quittedhis presence, scarce knowing whether to be rejoiced or dissatisfied.

The former, Gaston certainly was. "I have often been heartily wearyof garrison duty," said he, "but never can I be more weary of aught,than of being looked upon askance by half the men I meet. And wemay sometimes hear the lark sing too, as well as the mouse squeak,Sir Eustace. I know every pass of my native county, and the herdsof Languedoc shall pay toll to us."

Sir John Chandos, as Constable of Aquitaine, gave him the requisiteorders and information. The fortifications, he said, were in goodcondition, and the garrison already numerous; but a sum of moneywas allotted to him in order to increase their numbers as much ashe should deem advisable, since it was not improbable that he mighthave to sustain a siege, as Oliver de Clisson was threatening thatpart of the frontier. Four days were allowed for his preparations,after which he was to depart for his government.

Eustace was well pleased with all that he heard, and returned tohis lodging, where, in the evening twilight, he was deeply engagedin consultation with Gaston, on the number of followers to be raised,when a light step was heard hastily approaching, and Arthur, dartinginto the room, flung himself on his neck, exclaiming, "Uncle! uncle!go not to this Castle!"

"Arthur, what brings you here? What means this? No foolish frolic,no escape from punishment, I trust?" said Eustace, holding him atsome little distance, and fixing his eyes on him intently.

"No, uncle, no! On the word of a true Knight's son," said the boy,stammering, in his eagerness, "believe me, trust me, dear uncle--